


if food be the music of love

by terezis



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, kravitz commits a bevy of food crimes, to the eternal soupcade with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terezis/pseuds/terezis
Summary: Cooking has proved to be a much more complicated affair than Kravitz had originally anticipated. He’d never had much talent for it in life, and death has done nothing to change that. Still, Taako flits about the kitchen like it’s nothing – and so Kravitz had thought, how hard could it be to make soup?Famous last words,he thinks, surrounded by chicken bones.





	if food be the music of love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the first day of [@taakitzweek!](https://taakitzweek.tumblr.com/post/170765313192/header-art-by-snuffes-announcing-the-first) The prompt was "kitchen disasters."

 

> Excerpt from “ _99 Recipes for 99 Years: Taako’s Guide to Eating Across Reality,”_ a cookbook by Taako 
> 
> **Cycle 86:** **Chicken Soup for the Corrupted Soul**
> 
> “You know what’s worse than being cold? Catching one.
> 
> This plane’s near-constant freezing rain meant there was really only one season the entire year – yeah, that’s right, I’m talkin’ ‘bout flu season. Lup and Barry must’ve passed the same fuckin’ cold back and forth between them twice a week whole cycle long. And, like, I get it. “For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall shed your physical forms to free your souls from this mortal coil,” whatever – but seriously. That shit was  _grody._
> 
> Ain’t nothin’ like some good ol’ fashioned chicken noodle to bump your brother-in-law’s shitty constitution up a few degrees. Denim doesn’t keep the chill away, but my soup will  _for sure.”_
> 
> **Ingredients:**
> 
>   * 1 whole chicken
>   * 12 cups water
>   * 4 bouillon cubes
>   * 2 cups celery, diced
>   * 2 cups carrots, diced
>   * 2 cups onions, diced
>   * 2 cups leeks, sliced
>   * ¾ teaspoon turmeric
>   * ¾ tablespoon salt
>   * ¼ tablespoon black pepper, freshly ground
>   * ½ lb. dried egg noodles
>   * 1 ½ tablespoons fresh parsley, minced
> 

> 
> **Directions:**
> 
>   1. Place the chicken, bouillon cubes, and water in a large stock pot.
>   2. Bring that shit to a boil, then lower the heat and let it simmer for forty-five minutes.
>   3. While you’re waiting, cut your veggies. Remember, you wanna float the leeks in a bath of water first and scoop ‘em off the top – the grit will stay at the bottom.
>   4. Remove the chicken and place it on a tray to cool.
>   5. Strain the broth through a cheese cloth-lined colander. Don’t have any cheese cloth?  _Get some._ Nah, I’m just fucking with you – a coffee filter’s fine in a pinch. Hot tip: wet the filter a little so the broth flows more easily.
>   6. Return the broth to the pot, and pull the chicken apart with a fork.
>   7. Add your veggies, spices, and meat to the pot. Let it simmer until tender. Ignore the hungry masses that have been lured out of their labs by the scent.  They can wait. 
>   8. Add your egg noodles (see recipe on pg. 42) and let everything simmer for ten more minutes. Absolutely  _do not_  let Magnus Burnsides steal a taste when your back is turned; he’ll burn his tongue and you’ll never hear the end of it.
>   9. Add fresh parsley to taste.
> 


Kravitz curses over the hiss of bubbling liquid and scrambles to the stove-top just in time to watch his broth boil over.

It sizzles menacingly against the curve of the pot as it evaporates, a taunt and a threat both. Kravitz can’t help but feel a little like he’s being mocked. He reaches for the lid and immediately jolts backwards as his skin touches the metal – _fuck_ but that burns. Kravitz may be long-dead, but his nerve endings are decidedly not. He lowers the heat and frantically glances around for an oven mitt.

The stove is the latest in a long line of casualties this afternoon; around him, the kitchen is a war zone. Several open cookbooks cover the far counter: one for the recipe, another to walk him through the process of mincing. He’d pulled out the third –  _Seven Habits of Highly Effective Elves (In The Kitchen): What the Beginner Chef Needs To Know_  – after eviscerating his third onion and realizing that he was in way over his head.

The island is host to several empty bowls and a cutting board, which to the untrained eye might seem promising. The non-negligible amount of chopped vegetables littering the floor are less so. Kravitz is going to have one hell of a time cleaning up later.

After some searching, he finally locates the missing mitt – hidden under a tray of chicken bones – and removes the lid from the stock pot. This seems to soothe it. Kravitz exhales.

Cooking has proved to be a much more complicated affair than Kravitz had anticipated. He’d never had much talent for it in life, and death has done nothing to change that. Still, Taako flits about the kitchen like it’s nothing – and so Kravitz had thought, how hard could it be to make soup?

 _Famous last words_ , he thinks to himself as he eyes the looted remains of the chicken corpse. At least Taako’s not around to see the terrible mess he’s made. He’d never hear the end of it. Taako is exacting in the kitchen in a way that he isn’t anywhere else in life. A precision instrument; he cooks with intent. Kravitz should probably try to follow his boyfriend’s lead.

If he was really taking a page from Taako's book, he’d be curled up in bed, face pressed into a silky curtain of bleach-blonde hair and snoring. Kravitz could stick the pot in the fridge, leave the clean-up for later; climb under the covers next to the love of his afterlife and let himself be lulled to sleep by the steady in-and-out of Taako’s breathing. It’s a tempting thought. 

But Taako is currently sleeping off a fever that leaves him sweating and shivering uncontrollably in turns. Kravitz had gotten the boot during that last bout. Though he’s been growing warmer with each passing day, his skin is still cold enough to chill.

Taako’s fine, or he’s going to be. Kravitz would know if he wasn’t fine. Taako had whined about craving “the sweet embrace of lowercase-‘d’ death” enough that morning for Kravitz to realize it wasn’t anything serious. Still, he worries. Taako is mortal. It’s been a very long time since Kravitz has cared for someone who could fall ill.

So, soup.

Sick people drink soup. Kravitz knows this because Taako makes batches in bulk whenever a bug starts making rounds at school _._

 _“Can’t have any of these little shits missing class,”_ he’d said the first time. _“Then they’ll graduate young, dumb, and – and that’s just bad business. Ch'boy's got a reputation to protect. Taako's school is elite.”_

 _“How does soup factor into that?”_ Kravitz had asked.

 _“It’s full of,”_ he’d waved a hand vaguely without looking up from the stove, _“you know.”_ When Kravitz didn’t respond, Taako gestured impatiently.  _“Like, nutrients ‘n shit! Shut up,”_  he’d said, lips quirking upwards as Kravitz laughed.

In the present, Kravitz glances back at the recipe and frowns. In his haste to start the soup proper, he’d forgotten… well, he’d forgotten quite a few things. He has no idea where he put the tablespoon. A nagging voice in his head that sounds remarkably like Taako bemoans his  _mise en place_.

Salt and pepper – that’s easy.  _Surely_  he can guesstimate the right amount of salt. Kravitz makes as if to sprinkle a bit into the pot, imagining the look on Taako’s face when Kravitz surprises him with dinner, the one that will make this all worth it. The lilt of his voice, raspy with sleep, as Taako needles him about the quality of his cooking. He smiles.

And then the cap falls off, and Kravitz watches in slow-motion as an entire shaker's worth of salt spills, unceremoniously, into the soup.

He has the presence of mind to snatch the lid up before it can sink to the bottom, but it’s all Kravitz can do not to start shouting as the rest begins to dissolve. He inhales sharply, counts back from ten. He doesn’t want to wake Taako up, but,  _Fuck._

Honestly, at this point it just seems like par for the course. The whole pot is probably a lost cause; that was more than triple the amount of salt called for in the recipe. He can’t exactly serve  _seawater_ to his boyfriend. Gods, he should just order take out. 

Kravitz reaches for the wooden spoon on the counter. He’ll give it one last go, see if it’s at all salvageable before calling time of death on this terrible soup mistake. There’s a Dwarfish place around the corner that Taako likes. He’s pretty sure they deliver.

“Babe _,_  come back to bed,” Taako yawns from the doorway. “Ch’boy needs –”

Kravitz flinches – he’d been so busy moping he hadn’t noticed the sound of bare feet on hardwood – but still, he turns, resigned to his fate. Relentless teasing and janitorial duty, most likely.

Taako blinks owlishly. His eyes dart from the counter to the open cabinet doors, the stain on the floor where Kravitz dropped a coffee filter sticky with broth. Their comforter is wrapped around him like a cloak; one corner of the quilt trails behind him like a downy train. He doesn’t say anything, which for Taako is unusual and foreboding.  He’s rarely ever a man struck speechless.

“You – you should be resting,” Kravitz tries.

Taako finally glances over at him, lips pressed together, and then narrows his eyes as he notices the stock pot Kravitz is trying to hide behind his back. He strides to the stove and adjusts his blanket cocoon so that he can snatch the spoon out of Kravitz’s hand.

“Well, let’s give ‘er a taste,” he says.

“I wouldn’t.”

Taako wields the spoon like a scepter and waves Kravitz off, blowing delicately on a carrot before slurping it into his mouth.

Predictably, he sputters and chokes, face screwing up as he struggles to swallow what must be an ungodly amount of salt. Kravitz winces as Taako gives into instinct and spits soup back into the pot.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Holy shit, handsome, you tryna cure me or  _cure_  me?” Taako rasps.

“You caught me. Sea salt is the new formaldehyde,” Kravitz deadpans. “I’m getting ready to set your body to rights.” He tugs Taako away from the stove and wraps his arms around the smaller man’s waist, rubbing soothing circles into his back as Taako coughs. “Is it really that bad?”

“I’ve tasted  _oceans_ less briny, my dude,” Taako replies, which. Fair. He butts at Kravitz’s shoulder with no real force. “And I ain’t dead yet. Taako’s like a, like a fruitcake -“

“Strangely delicious?”

“What? No. Well, I mean, yes, obviously, but who the hell likes  _fruitcake_ – I  _meant_ fuckin’ impossible to get rid of.”

"Just wanted to make sure.” Kravitz smiles, and sighs. “I really screwed the pooch on this one, huh?” 

Taako opens his mouth to speak and sneezes instead. He covers his nose with a corner of the blanket and ignores the disapproving look that earns him. “Yeah, uh, it’s – it’s pretty bad.”

“I tried my best,” Kravitz says. He waves a hand to dismiss the magical flame on the burner. “You looked like you could use some comfort food.”

“Why didn’t you just call Lup? Or, hell, I’m sure we’ve got some Fantasy Campbell’s around here somewhere. Even  _you_ couldn’t mess that one up.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Kravitz says wryly. “I don’t know, I just wanted to - do something nice for you, I suppose. Take care of my boyfriend.”

Taako's ears twitch, and Kravitz just barely resists the urge to smile. For all Taako plays at cool and aloof, the man sure does fluster easily. There's a certain satisfaction in knowing that his cheeks aren't flushed from the fever.

“Gods, you’re a fucking sap,” Taako mumbles. He leans back to give the soup a cursory stir. “Are there eggshells in here? Krav, the recipe doesn’t even  _call_  for -”

“Okay, let’s get you back to bed,” Kravitz says quickly. He puts a hand on the small of Taako’s back; Taako snickers but lets himself be steered out of the kitchen.

“Did you use all my sea salt? I paid out the ass for that, you know, Garfield triples the price whenever I’m in.”

"I’ll buy more,” Kravitz promises.

“You better. I work hard for those gee-pees.”

Instead of continuing down the hall to their bedroom, Taako veers right and breezes into the living room, blanket fluttering behind him like a cape. Kravitz follows. “Where are you going?”

“Bedroom’s too stuffy,” Taako says. “Need a change of scenery.” He flops down onto the wide, well-worn couch and makes grabby hands. ” – and my own personal ice-pack. I’m gettin’ heatstroke here, handsome.“

Kravitz snorts and moves to join him, shifting Taako to tuck him against his chest. Taako wiggles around until he’s comfortable, draping the blanket over them both, and then fits his head into the gentle curve of Kravitz’s shoulder. Kravitz skim his fingers against the soft hair at the nape of Taako’s neck.

"Fever’s gone down,” Kravitz tells him. “You’re not too hot anymore.”

“Rude. Thought I didn’t have to wear the glamour ‘round you, asshole." 

Kravitz tries not to squirm at the feeling of plush lips moving against his collarbone. "You’re beautiful,” he says.

“I haven’t showered in two days.”

"Sweaty and beautiful, then.”

Taako bats uselessly at his shoulder and yawns. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for that kitchen nightmare, by the way. ’M gonna be scrubbin’ chicken fat off the tiles for  _weeks_.”

Kravitz runs a hand down Taako’s back; he shivers. “I’ll do all the scrubbing if you teach me how to cook properly next time.”

“M'gonna have to write you another book,” Taako mumbles. “’ _Dining with Death: Recipes for the Skeleton in your Closet.’_ “

“I’m honored, but I’ve been out of the closet for years, darling.” 

Taako snorts but doesn’t respond, already most of the way to dozing. He’s a warm and welcome weight on Kravitz’s chest. The scent of chicken soup wafts down the hallway and through the room. Kravitz finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s comforting. It smells like home. 

Here he is, curled up with his boyfriend in the living room of an apartment that they share, in a home they’ve made together – and it really does feel like living. Cooking, and eating – or sometimes not – and taking care of someone who cares for him in turn. It’s novel and infinitely precious; he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling. 

Kravitz closes his eyes and lets the quiet liquid thump of Taako’s heartbeat carry him away as well.

**Author's Note:**

> @[terezis](http://terezis.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr  
> @[kravitaz](http://twitter.com/kravitaz/) on Twitter


End file.
